A Monster Stared Back
by fanfantome
Summary: What if the mob had never reached Erik's home? What if, whilst wallowing in self-deprecating disgust and pity, Erik receives a visitor he didn't even know he needed? A what if one shot, with room for expanding based on the 2004 film. Rated T just incase.
1. Chapter 1

**Hi guys. I know I haven't finished my other stories, but I started this... It may just be a one-shot, depending on what you all think, so let me know.** **It's a what if based on the 2004 film- so I have those guys in mind- But I haven't used specifics, so feel free to imagine whoever you want. It's a bit fluffy, but it's mostly just Erik being a proud, arrogant s**t. :)**

 **Phanty belongs to Leroux and Lloyd Webber, and maybe some elements of Kay just subconsciously.**

 **Enjoy!**

* * *

She had placed the ring in my palm. Her two small hands had closed over my own for a single, precious moment; her touch was soft, tender- something I had seldom experienced. It was one of the few times she had willingly touched me, and we both seemed to pause slightly at the foreign sensation. A final barrier was broken between us as her hands touched mine.

The hands belonging to a man; just a man. Not a ghost, Phantom or specter.

I walked to the bank of the lake and watched her disappear from sight. I do not know what possessed me to do so. Perhaps I was a glutton for my own agony. My chest tightened as I saw her turn back briefly. Our eyes met for a second or two, and then she looked forward once more. Something I would never be able to do.

My fingers still closed around the ring she had given me, I sat down, allowing the tears to freely fall now that Christine was not around to see them. My home had never felt so empty- the oppressive silence was almost too much to bear. How had I lived like this for so long?

The silence was strange tonight though, given everything that had happened above ground. I would have expected some callers by now; the mob, the authorities… or both. Standing up and stashing the ring in my pocket, I waded once more into the murky water before me and peered as far as I could through the tunnel.

Nothing… Not a sound. No yells of impending doom, no distant flashes of light to signify torches approaching… nothing at all. My home was difficult to find, I had made it so, but after all the chaos and destruction I had caused, I was sure that someone would have found me on hatred or revenge alone.

Perhaps Madame Giry had drawn them away, or perhaps she had set her daughter the task. Part of me was relieved by the idea that I would be able to stay where I was and wallow in the grief that was suffocating me with each passing minute, that at least I would have my routine and security… my safety, but the other part told me that I needed to leave… one way or the other. I had either to submit myself to the mob, _or_ the authorities and whatever they had in store, or I had to take my future into my own hands and walk away. Walk away from it all. Whatever that meant…

Everything in this Opera house would now remind me of Christine, the way I had treated her and the person… the _monster_ I had become in the end.

Unceremoniously wiping my nose with my sleeve, I waded back to the shore. I bent down and picked up her veil, placing it back on the mannequin. It used to sit atop the mannequin's head comfortably, but now it seemed so out of place. It did not belong there anymore. It belonged with Christine.

I decided to leave the portcullis up. For whoever found me in the end deserved the right to justice or revenge... they seemed interchangeable now. What did I have to live for now? I still had my music, but Christine _was_ my music. She was my muse, and for the last few years, she and music had gone hand in hand in my mind. How was I to separate the two?

Another day passed.

Another day of agony.

Finally, I changed out of what was left of my Don Juan Triumphant costume. I couldn't care less what I wore, but what I did not need was another constant reminder of that night- my home and memories, my face… they were enough. To my disgust, in spite of everything, for the last two days, part of me had expected her to return. To have changed her mind, to have forgiven me… but I knew that I did not deserve forgiveness. I hated how weak I had become because of her. I knew that if she showed her face, I would accept her with open arms and I loathed myself for it.

I hadn't sought out food since before the night of Don Juan. I hadn't bathed. I hadn't even been brave enough to face a mirror. But I hardly felt the pain of hunger, I hardly felt the grime on my body even though prior to this I was exceedingly fastidious with my cleanliness. I found that even though at the root of everything was my appearance, for the first time I hardly cared how I looked.

I hardly cared how I felt save for the ache in my chest and sickness in my stomach that had not left since she had…

The time dragged, and I felt each agonizing second tick by. I wanted to be sick. I wanted to physically hurt so that I could feel something other than this never-ending torment. The sickening thought that she might return, that still… _Still_ she might change her mind…

I was still expecting someone to pay me a visit and make it easy for me; take my life. Take the life that I should never have been given, and since birth have not deserved. But no one came.

I did not know what was happening above ground. It was likely that the Opera had closed for repairs following the damage I had done- if it was to be salvaged at all. I had not yet seen the damage for myself. At this stage I was not leaving my home, but for all I knew, that option might not remain. I could be buried under rubble and not even be aware of it. Entrapped forever in the building I loved so much. A tomb for a corpse; fitting.

* * *

Not knowing what else to do, I poured a large glass of red wine and drank it all. I poured another and did the same. I approached one of the mirrors that bordered my home and for the first time in days, stared into it.

A monster stared back.

Just as my mother had said it would all those years ago.

 _Stay away from mirrors, Erik. Or the monster inside will get you!_

Well, she was right. The monster _had_ gotten me after all. What was staring back at me was no man. If there ever was a human being in that reflection, he was all but gone now.

All of a sudden I found that the monster was smiling back at me. What was humorous? Who knew. Perhaps the monster was mad. Soon both the monster and I began to laugh together and seemingly minutes passed.

The laugher turned to pain and soon I couldn't stop the grief from showing itself. I heaved and wept, falling against the mirror- staring back at what I knew was myself.

This face. I was tired of it. It had taken everything from me.

I threw my fists into the glass, each punch sending shards flying out in all directions. It was beautiful, and now I could no longer see the face that had destroyed my life before it had even begun. Feeling slightly better about things, I took a deep breath and poured another glass of wine. I felt nothing as the blood ran down my fingers and onto the ground below.

I moved to the next mirror and repeated the process, beginning to smile again as the alcohol took charge of my actions and I no longer needed to think.

I walked back up to where my wine bottle sat and poured another glass… or _half_ glass. Apparently I had finished the bottle. Picking up the glass and attempting to drink it as I made my way down the stairs to my desk, I lost my footing, slipping on a shard of glass. My wine fell from my hand, and in an attempt to gain balance with the other leg, I twisted my ankle and went tumbling unceremoniously to the floor.

I cringed as my ankle screamed with pain. What had I done? I wasn't usually this light headed after a single bottle of wine, but my emotions were running high, and I had not eaten for several days now.

I hadn't wanted to leave, but now I truly couldn't. I laughed again at the situation I was in, but there was no one around to hear it, and the silence that engulfed my voice made me feel pathetic. I attempted to sit up, only to feel a sharp burn in my side as I did so. I looked down to see that there was a patch of red on my shirt. I lifted it to see that a piece of glass had in fact sliced my side open as I'd fallen. Fantastic. At least it didn't look too deep.

With a cringe, I sat up. I yelled as I pulled myself to my feet. I truly could not put any weight on my right foot. It would prove troublesome If I did actually need to abscond from my home at any point. Thankfully, seemingly, both the mob and the authorities had given up on me that night. Although, it hardly mattered whether they had or not. What I was doing was not living, and so perhaps it would be alright if they took my life after all. No one else wanted it and I was certainly indifferent at the present time.

Knowing that I should at least elevate my ankle, but neglecting to do so out of spite for myself, I sat at my organ. Not playing, just staring at the keys. I placed my bloodied hands atop them, the keys turning from white to red as I smoothed my fingers over them.

* * *

I sat sprawled across my organ, on the verge of sleep when I heard the voice.

"Angel."

I lifted my head, squinting into the darkness. I must have been dreaming, or perhaps I was still inebriated. No, I couldn't be. It had been hours and the headache that now plagued me on top of everything else told me that the fun was over, and that now I had to pay for all that I had consumed and the speed with which I had done so. I lay back down, settling into my awkward sitting position, one that had no doubt spoiled my back over time, and closed my eyes.

"Angel. It's me."

That voice again. It was her. I sat up again, slowly turning around where I sat to see Christine standing at the bottom of the stairs I had fallen down. She was looking down at the detritus surrounding her; shards of glass, wine stains, other stains… her gaze shifted to mine as I turned. My first reaction was to go to her. For she had returned, and for the last 3 days or so that was all I'd been able to think about. But I calmed myself; my true persona took hold once more once I realized that she had left me. When I had released her, she had not thought twice about leaving with her boy and she had likely only returned out of some sense of pity or duty to her conscience.

"I can see that." I finally spoke.

She flinched slightly at my cold words.

There was silence as I glared at her.

"Are you alright?" She asked. If it had not been so dark, she might've been able to see that I was not, in fact, alright. It was visible that I had not slept, nor eaten, and that I was bleeding from more than one injury.

"Why are you here?" I spoke softly, ignoring her question.

She stepped closer, perhaps taking my question as an invitation.

"Don't." I said, turning from her slightly. I still hadn't replaced my mask, and a harsh word or stare from her in the state I was in, would crush me.

She stopped walking.

"I had to see you."

"How kind of you." I quipped. It had been snide, yes, but I didn't care.

"Angel, please." She began. "I had to see that you were alright… After we left… I was worried that the mob…"

"You can't have been too worried, though." I replied darkly, cutting her off. "It _has_ been two days." It was a childish argument, and I regretted allowing her to see that I was affected by her in the slightest…

"I know." She said, looking down. "It was the soonest I could get away."

 _Yes, with your marriage planning, I suppose you were quite busy._

I remained silent. She was being guarded too, but why?

"Angel, what happened here?"

"I fail to see how that is any of your concern, Christine."

"It is of my concern!" She spoke, stepping forward again. This was the first time she had raised her voice to me.

"In what way?" I argued. "You have seen what you came here to. I am alive, if you could call it that. Let your conscience be sated with that, and leave this where it is. Your priorities were made clear to me on Thursday night." I looked down. She remained silent.

"I let you leave." I began again, my voice softer. "You did not need to return. You should not be here."

My last words were spoken in sincerity. I wanted her with me more than anything, but I had let her leave because I saw that love was not about selfish yearning, but instead, selflessness. I wished her to be happy above all else, above myself. How was she to achieve that If she was still with me? The man who had kidnapped and entrapped her? I felt ill the more I thought of it.

"Well is this how you wish to leave things?" She argued. I looked up.

"We already left things, Christine. I'm sorry, but if you have come here for some sort of closure, I do not know what to tell you. You are free to leave and enjoy your life… I meant that when I said it." I wasn't being snide. I hadn't the energy for that anymore. "Please, go."

"I will go, but I don't wish to leave things like this. Not after everything."

"Please, Christine." I spoke. Couldn't she see that her mere presence was torturing me? Taunting me with promises of something that I could not have, that did not want me…

"Angel…" She began.

" _Please._ Stop calling me that. We both know that it is no longer appropriate."

"And what _is_ appropriate?" She asked

"…Erik." I said, almost a whisper. "My name is Erik."

There was silence for a moment, and then she spoke.

"Well, _Erik._ Would it be alright If I stayed for a few moments?"

I stared at her, though I was sure she could not see all of my face. Only a few candles were lit by this point, and all that she had with her was a dull lamp. I wished for her to say. I wanted it more than anything. It would be torturous, but she had _asked_ to stay, how could I refuse?

"You may do as you please." I said coldly.

"Thank you."

She approached me slowly, awkwardly…

"I will find you a chair." I said. Though, as soon as I stood up and put my weight on my right foot, pain shot through me and I fell back onto my organ, holding it for support.

"Are you alright?" She cried. I could not stop her from approaching now, nor could I move away. All I could do was cover my face, and so I did so.

"What happened to you?" She asked, moving closer. "Oh… your hands… you're bleeding!"

"Yes."

Indeed, I was. It had not really bothered me until I had seen the pieces of glass sticking out of my skin, and now it was beginning to sting.

"Let me help you." She reached out for the hand that was leaning on the organ, giving me balance. I pulled away, almost falling again.

"Don't touch me." I said. I hadn't meant for it to sound so harsh, but I couldn't let her in. Not when I was already in so much pain at the thought of losing her. I yearned for her touch, and yet I knew it would be the end of me… "I can do it myself."

"What happened?" She asked again.

I did not respond. Instead, I stood up and limped to the bedroom she had once slept in. She followed me as I entered and sat on the edge, bending down to retrieve my bespoke first aid kit from underneath it.

"What is that?" She enquired, staring at the small box I had in my hands.

"You need not worry." I said curtly.

"There is no need to be rude to me."

No, there wasn't. If I didn't want her around, I needed to tell her. But I did… oh, how I did.

"I apologize." I said. "But you do not need to be here, nor do you need to witness this. You should leave."

With that, she stood up and left the room. I stared after her. Was that it? Had she left? Without so much as a goodbye? Perhaps it was for the best. I set the box down and lit some of the candles in the bedroom. I needed to see what I was doing. I was not particularly fond of living, but I did not wish to die from infection. I had come close before and It was not pleasant.

The light in the room made me more comfortable. It hadn't before, but now, I felt less alone. I could pretend that everything was as it had been before Thursday; before Don Juan Triumphant.

I stood up, ready to limp to the kitchen in search of a bowl and some water to wash out my wounds, and Christine entered the room, standing before me just inside the door way. My hand flew to my face.

"I thought you'd left." I said,

"No." She said, now only two feet from me. She was intoxicating. "I went to find these." I looked down at what she was holding out; my mask and wig. Could it be that she wanted me to feel comfortable? "You shouldn't have to hide your face in your own home, but I thought these would make you feel more at ease."

I took them, turning my back to her to put them on. I did indeed feel more at ease. I had not worn a mask since she had ripped it off me on stage… I turned back to her, smoothing my wig back in an attempt to look more presentable. Though, I hadn't shaved in days and I likely looked like death due to lack of sleep.

"Thank you." I said, my voice low, not wanting to give away too much. In truth I was amazed by the gesture. Did my comfort mean that much to her, or did she want my face covered for her own benefit? I tried not to think about it.

"You're welcome… Erik." She said. My name sounded beautiful on her tongue. "Now please, let me help you, and then if you still wish it, I will leave."

Avoiding eye contact with her, I nodded.

"Water." I spoke. "I will need a bowl of water."

"Alright." She smiled guardedly, before leaving the room again.

When she returned I was sitting on the side of the bed once more, tweezers in hand. She set the bowl on the ground before kneeling before me, watching my hands intently. It made me nervous. I don't know if it was her or the pain that was making my hands shake but it was making things very difficult. As soon as the tweezers came in contact with a piece of glass I yelled in pain, refraining from cursing aloud.

"Allow me." She offered, reaching for the tweezers.

"No!" I growled.

"Let me help you!" She retorted.

"Why!"

"I am not going to sit here and watch you put yourself through pain! Now, give me the tweezers!"

I was stunned. Who was this woman? Before I could say anything she had taken them from me and held out her hand.

Slowly, I offered her one of mine, and as soon as our palms touched, I felt weak. Her hand was warm and soft. Suddenly, the pain was gone. How was I to live without this feeling now that I knew what it felt like?

"Thank you." She said sternly.

We did not speak as she gently removed the shards from one hand, and washed it in water. I handed her the iodine without a word and she poured it over my hand. It stung horribly, but as Christine wiped the excess blood away and gently bandaged me, I could not help but stare at her. She was so gentle with me after all I had done. I did not deserve this. I offered her my other hand without her needing to ask, and she offered a small smile in return. She was so beautiful.

She repeated the process in silence. She had asked numerous times what had happened, and I had neglected to answer. Why was I making her suffer when she was offering nothing but kindness?

"The mirrors." I stated awkwardly once she had finished.

She looked up.

"You asked what had happened." I added.

"The mirrors." She began. "I just pulled pieces of them out of your flesh, therefore I gathered as much."

Was that sarcasm? I stared at her- unused to being spoken to like this, I remained silent.

"The real question is why." She spoke.

"I don't have an answer for that." I said. She nodded again.

"I see." She said. "And what of that?" She gestured to the patch of blood on my shirt.

"It's nothing."

"Just like your hands?" She smirked.

"Why are you helping me?"

"Because you cannot help yourself."

"I can. And if that is why you are here, you may leave."

"I am not leaving until I know that you are alright."

"But why do you care?!"

"Because it is who I am! You once meant a lot to me. You were there for me when no one else was, and you did more for me than anyone could hope to understand. Over the past few months you turned into something else but I know that the real you is still in there somewhere! And that is who I am helping! Are you satisfied with that!?"

No, I wasn't. Not at all.

"You don't know the real me." I began, continuing the argument.

"And neither do you! You have become so disconnected with yourself that you had to pause when I asked what your name was!"

I did not expect this from Christine and I was in no mood for an argument.

"I am the Phantom, Christine. Whether you like it or not, that is who I am now, and that is who you are helping."

"…And if I asked you to be someone different? If I asked you to be Erik?"

I paused, looking down at my bandaged hands. I would do anything for her, be whoever she wanted me to be- perhaps she knew that.

I sighed.

"I don't know how to be that person anymore."

"You do."

I had been the Phantom for so long that Erik had not mattered- he had not been needed. But perhaps the only way to keep Christine around was to find him again.

"Now, am I sitting before the Phantom tonight?" Christine continued. "Was it the Phantom's wounds I just dressed?"

I shook my head slightly.

Christine nodded in response.

"Alright." She said. My eyes met hers briefly. I could not hold her gaze for long, not like I used to. Not when I was feeling so powerless. "Can I see your side? I'd like to see if there is glass in there. The only way you'd be able to do that yourself is if you used a mirror- and you don't have any of those left."

The girl had made an attempt at humor. I smirked slightly. Thankfully, she hadn't seen it.

"Lie back." She said. I did as she instructed. Unfortunately, the cut was fairly high up, across my ribs. I watched her carefully as I lifted my shirt, just enough for her to see the wound. She seemed nervous, and I saw her take a deep breath. Was she… blushing?

I had several scars littering my torso that I did not want her to see and question. But apart from that, it was improper. I was already feeling self-conscious, so when she took hold of my shirt and pulled it around further I stopped her.

"Stop."

"Ang… Erik. I have to see the wound." She seemed annoyed.

"You _could_ see it. I pulled my shirt up high enough."

"You need to hold it up higher if I'm to clean it for you."

"You shouldn't have to see this."

"Erik, I lived in the theatre for many years. I _have_ seen a man's chest before. Please, relax."

It wasn't that. I wasn't ashamed of my scars as I was my face, but I didn't want the questions… the pity… I'd suffered enough of that tonight.

"Please." She added. "Don't fight me on everything."

I looked at her sweet face. How could I deny her? I would just have to explain myself- something I loathed doing.

I took a deep breath.

"Scars." I spoke, my voice low. "I have scars I did not wish for you to see."

"Everyone has scars."

"Not like this." Indeed, not many people had been whipped, cut, and burned for entertainment. "I have cared for myself many times before, Christine. And I have survived. Please. Tell me if there is any glass that you can see, and I will do the rest."

She sighed, but thankfully she did not question what I said.

"There was no glass."

I nodded.

She handed me a cloth soaked in iodine, and I cleaned my own wound. It stung terribly- but I could tell from the pain that I would not need stitches.

Though, my ankle throbbed, and I made the mistake of glancing down at it.

"Your ankle?" She asked. "What did you do?"

"I twisted it when I fell. But please, you need not…"

But she was already at the foot of the bed.

"Which one is it? Your right?"

"Christine please. Really. You don't need to."

The last thing I wanted was her inspecting my foot. In my life people had seldom touched me with good intent. No one had ever touched my feet, I didn't want to subject her to that. Also, it felt strangely intimate, and it would be incredibly awkward. I didn't want that.

When she touched my boot, pain shot through me. I clenched the sheets and groaned.

"I'm sorry." She asked apologetically. "Did that hurt?"

"Yes."

"We have to get it off before the swelling gets worse."

I knew it to be the case, though, I did not want her involved.

She touched my boot again, this time more gently. She slowly unlaced it and pulled it off.

"Christine, no. Just leave it. Please."

"It looks quite swollen." She said, ignoring me. She began to remove my sock.

"Stop. You shouldn't." I said, pulling away from her. Though the movement that pulling away caused me was excruciating.

"Why not?" She asked, a smile coming to her lips. "Ticklish?"

 _Was_ I?

God, I hadn't even thought of that.

Surely she wouldn't…

She wouldn't dare…

Not while I was in pain.

Not ever!

 _Why was she still here!?_

I frowned at her.

"No. You just…"

She watched me struggle for words.

 _You shouldn't have to do this to someone who treated you so poorly._

"It-It makes me uncomfortable." I finally said.

"Erik, for the last time. I am _going_ to help you. Now stop fussing, please. You're making this more difficult than it needs to be!"

She pulled off the sock and inspected my ankle. I looked away and closed my eyes, not wanting to see her expression. This was too strange. The situation was surreal; I didn't like feeling this _human._ This _vulnerable._ But I didn't have a choice. The girl was determined.

"It's swollen and bruised." She said. I opened my eyes and looked down. It was indeed. It looked awful. "I don't know much about injuries unfortunately, but I have rolled my ankle once or twice while dancing."

I knew she had. I had seen it each time it had happened and it had taken every ounce of strength not to go to her and pick her up.

"I have had injuries that have looked similar to this." She said. "Does it feel broken?"

"No." I stated. I just wanted this to end. She gently took my foot in her hand, slowly turning it to the side to inspect the other side of the ankle. Having never been touched there, my skin was sensitive. It felt heavenly. I closed my eyes, guiltily enjoying the feeling of her soft skin against mine.

"It looks worse on the inside." She said. I opened my eyes again. "I'll wrap it for you."

"No, you don't…"

"You cannot do it yourself, Erik." She said, clearly annoyed with me.

She gently wrapped my ankle. Each time her skin came in contact with mine, a jolt of pleasure shot through me. She couldn't be here anymore. I could not bear it. Christine placed a cushion beneath my foot and walked nearer to me, sitting on the edge of the bed.

"You'll need to stay off it for a few days." She said. "And you should change your shirt. The last thing you need is an infection."

I nodded, deciding it was best not to argue with her. She was not the Christine I remembered.

"Will you be leaving now?" I asked. "I am quite capable, Christine. Despite what you may think. You should feel free to leave."

"I do feel free to leave."

I stared at her. What was she trying to say?

"Do you wish for me to leave?"

Of course I didn't.

"It is not up to me." I answered strategically.

"It is a simple question, Erik. Requiring a simple answer."

How had Christine Daae changed in such a short amount of time? Perhaps she hadn't. Perhaps I hadn't really known her at all…

What I had suffered was demeaning. I was not accustomed to accepting help; being treated like I was incompetent, like a child. But never had anyone helped me as Christine had, and if it meant her staying around for just a little while longer, I would accept it.

"No, Christine. I do not wish for you to leave…"

* * *

 **Like I said, I imagined the 2004 cast in this, mostly because I feel like only Gerik would put up with all of this and deal with all of it relatively calmly. I feel like he's the most approachable of the Erik's, except maybe Cherik...**

 **Let me know what you think! :) Should I continue it?**


	2. Chapter 2

Hey guys. Thanks for the reviews! They were lovely. So, I guess I'm continuing with this for now. I'm still not entirely convinced, so please let me know what you think. Phanty belongs to Leroux and Lloyd Webber.

Here's some more.

* * *

 **Christine**

I could not fully explain my motives to Raoul when he asked why I needed to return, for I hadn't entirely figured that out myself. As I'd told Erik, I felt as though I owed him the kindness after all he had done for me. I was able to see a different person to what everyone else saw- that person was less and less visible during the months leading up to Don Juan Triumphant, but he was still there. Amongst the chaos and confusion, the jealousy and the hate, _Erik,_ or so he called himself, was still there inside the madness.

I cared about that person. He had been kind to me when I most needed it. Though, for the murders, the blackmail, the extortion, the manipulation… I could not yet forgive him, and I was not going to allow my pity for him to come in the way of that. Madame Giry took up where my father left off; raising me with morals, values and hubris. I considered myself to be a good person, and I was not going to let myself sink to Erik's man's level by condoning how he acted in the end- instead, if anything, I would attempt to bring him up to mine.

I didn't know if he'd want to see me. He had acted terribly, but I knew what he felt for me. In the end, I finally knew, and seeing me express my love for another and proceed to leave with him could not have been easy for Erik to witness. I knew that part of him would resent me for that, and I was prepared for it. I was a little bit afraid upon returning to him. I would be lying if I said I wasn't. What happened in the final hours of that night was frightful, and at the time he had frightened me terribly. But he would not hurt me. I knew that now. I had feared it prior to Don Juan but I had seen the truth in his eyes that night, when I had handed him back the ring. Never before had I seen a look of such gentle, vulnerable adoration before. And he had made the ultimate sacrifice out of love for me. He had thrown away his chances at happiness for mine.

I didn't want to leave things as they were. Why was I returning? Because he deserved that much. What did I hope to achieve? I had no clue. I didn't know what I expected to find as I approached his home, and so I feared the worst.

Thankfully though, he was still in his home when I arrived- relatively unharmed… and what harm _had_ befallen him, was by his own self-destructive hand.

It was strange, tending to him under such normal, domestic circumstances. As I wrapped his wounded hands, and his flesh touched my own, I was able to see that he was just as frail and vulnerable as the average person. He would not appreciate being seen like that, but it was the truth and it was somewhat comforting.

There was so much to learn about Erik, and prior to tonight, I hadn't been interested. I'd only thought of myself. How he was making _me_ feel, where _I_ would end up. I had to be fair to myself though. He was not exactly welcoming friendship, and he was never what one would call approachable.

As he lifted his shirt, my gaze automatically drifted to his skin. Several scars were exposed to me but I pretended not to notice. Of course, I was incredibly curious, but I could tell by Erik's body language that he was not comfortable with the situation as it was. I didn't want to make things worse by staring. I didn't quite know where to look, though. Raoul had filled me in on vague details regarding Erik's past, facts he claimed that Madame Giry had shared with him, and I knew that Erik's scars were more than likely linked to that. I blushed slightly as my gaze darted to his chest. Living in the theatre, it was nothing new to me… but this was Erik. The Opera Ghost… My Angel of Music. None of that was real. I knew that now, but it was strange seeing him like this. Knowing that I was making things worse by staring, I moved forward to look at his wound, pulling his stained dress shirt away from it.

It was then that he stopped me.

I wanted to help him as much as I could, regardless of how many times he claimed not to need it. The only way I could do that was if he trusted me, so I respected his wishes and moved to his ankle which was clearly troubling him.

After much expected protesting, he allowed me to wrap that too, and elevate it. This was something I'd learned from Madame Giry. She had tended our wounds on many occasions and it was _her_ voice in my head, instructing me as to what to do.

I doubted Erik would stay off his feet for long though. He didn't seem the type who could stay in one place for too long, and so, I would stay a while longer. Perhaps another day, just to ensure that he was truly alright. I wanted to get to know him too. I will admit to that. I owed him that much before I left forever. I owed that much to myself… Raoul would understand. Now that the barriers had all been broken down, and each of us knew where we stood, perhaps we could form an actual friendship. I knew that that may have been asking too much. Erik had always been terribly guarded during our lessons, and in person he wasn't much easier to handle, but I would try. He had let me tend to his wounds, and that took trust. It was a start.

* * *

"No Christine. I do not wish for you to leave." He had said. Asking him was a gamble, I knew that, but the question needed to be asked. I was not about to linger in his home, the one place that he had without permission. I did not wish to place myself anywhere I was not wanted.

"I'm glad." I replied, relieved that I had made some progress with him. "How is the pain?"

"Fine." He looked at his foot where it lay at the end of the bed.

"You'll be able to walk again soon." I reassured him, guessing at what he was thinking about.

"Yes. Hardly matters though, does it?"

"Please don't be like that." I said. I hoped he wasn't going to make snide remarks like that the entire time I was with him.

"I'm not _being_ anything, Christine. It is the way it is. And the fact _is_ that it hardly matters. I'll be able to walk again in a few days. Fantastic. Where shall I walk to?"

I didn't answer. What could I say to that?

I walked over to what looked like a wardrobe on the right side of the room.

"Is this where you keep your clothes? Would you like me to get you a clean shirt?"

He tisked.

"I'll get it."

"No you will not." I shot, motioning for him to remain on the bed.

"Christine, you cannot tell me what to do in my own house. I am not a child, and you cannot restrict me from standing up and walking to that wardrobe if I so wish."

I looked at him.

"And was that the response of an adult?" I spat. Erik seethed.

"If you have come here to judge me further, then feel free to leave."

"I _am_ free to leave, thank you! I know that!" But was I? What If he changed his mind? How comfortable did I _really_ feel here?

I walked over to him. He had now folded his arms across his chest. How was I to communicate with someone so indignant? "I am trying to help you! Why are you being so difficult?"

"You called me a child!"

"I did not!"

"You may as well have." He said flatly.

"Well, you were acting like one! I am not a doctor but I know enough to tell you that if you have an injured ankle, you shouldn't put weight on it! I am here to help! Use me! Let me help you!"

"I have never needed help before!" He spat.

"Well now you have it!" I argued.

"I do not want help from you, Christine! I do not need you around; a constant reminder of what I…"

He stopped himself, but I knew what he was going to say. It must have been difficult for him. I wished I could tell him that I hadn't just come to look after him, that maybe… there was something else. But I couldn't, and I wasn't about to give him false hope.

I took a deep breath.

As did he.

"You said you didn't want me to leave." I said.

"No." he spoke, his voice calmer.

"You are acting as though you do."

"No, I…" He looked at me. "I do want you here. I only wish…"

"Yes?" Though, I knew what he wanted to say.

"It doesn't matter." He looked down again. "Yes. The shirts are kept there."

He didn't ask for one, and I knew that he wouldn't. Not outright. So I opened the wardrobe and sifted through the clothes inside. He watched me.

"There are only dress shirts in here." I said. "Isn't there something more comfortable that you could wear?"

"Everything else is dirty." He replied. "One of those will be fine."

"Would you like me to turn around?" I asked him once I'd handed him the shirt.

"Please." He replied as he began unbuttoning the one he was wearing.

I did as he asked. Erik was naturally tall and broad shouldered- That was evident, but I couldn't help but wonder what sort of build he had…

 _Why was I thinking about this?!_

"Is it… just the scars?" I found myself asking before I could stop myself.

"What?"

"I mean to say… is that the only reason you're… self-conscious?"

"What are you asking, Christine?" He spoke. "Are you asking if my body is deformed as well?"

"No." I said. "I just… I can't imagine why scars are anything to be ashamed of."

"And why is that? You may turn around."

I did so to find him buttoning his shirt once more.

"Well, scars show that you have made It through something. They show strength."

"Mine show weakness." He said.

I walked closer to him, deciding whether or not to mention what I knew. I chose to be honest.

"Erik. You were a child. You cannot blame yourself for…"

"I can and I do." His eyes narrowed as he cut me off. "How much do you know?"

"I only know vague details." I reassured him.

"Which are?"

"That…" This was difficult to say. "That you were held captive at a young age and… that they hurt you." I knew that it was an understatement, but I didn't want to make him feel any more uncomfortable or vulnerable than he already did.

Erik looked down at his bandaged hands. He seemed relieved that I hadn't mentioned any more.

"It's all in the past."

"Yes. But the scars remain." I said. He looked up at me again, attempting to read my expression. Perhaps he knew that I wasn't just referring to the physical ones. "I'm sorry If I'm responsible for any of those." I added.

He smiled- but it was more of a pained smirk.

"Why did you do it, Christine?" He asked. "Why did you set me up like that?"

My stomach dropped. Instantly, I knew what he was referring to and I was not prepared for this.

His eyes glistened slightly, as though tears were forming. But they couldn't be, could they? This was the first hint of emotion I had seen from him since my return, and my chest ached at the sight.

"Erik, I…"

"Did you want to see me arrested? Behind bars? It would have been death for me. Probably followed by hours of torture. You couldn't have fixed that as you did my hands and ankle, Christine. Not with all the bandages in the world."

"Of course I wouldn't want that for you. I'm sorry…."

"Having you do that to me." He interrupted. " _You._ In front of all those people. It broke me."

I hadn't expected him to delve into his feelings so soon, to question me so soon, if at all. He had seemed so numb, so guarded, so cut off from everything that I thought I would have to work toward it. Then it dawned on me that he had probably been thinking of little else since it had happened. I felt ill. Each word from him was like a knife plunging into my stomach. I wanted to say that Raoul, the managers… _someone_ had convinced me, but in the end I was the one who went on stage, knowing full well that he would appear, and when I did, I used the only power I had over him; I removed his mask.

And yet he wasn't even angry. He was hurt. I found that I could no longer meet his gaze.

"I'm _sorry._ " I repeated, walking to him and sitting on the side of his bed, my head in my hands. I began to cry. I didn't know what to say to him. " _I'm sorry... I was afraid."_ I wept.

"But _why_ Christine?" He asked, his voice uneven. "Why _that?"_

 _Why Christine…_

He had said that once before, after it had happened.

 _No kind words from anyone, no compassion anywhere…_

 _Why…_

I wept harder.

 _"_ _I was afraid!"_ I repeated.

"I too was afraid…" He offered. I turned to look at him.

"I was afraid of you." I had not meant to hurt him, but he had to know the truth.

As soon as the words had left my lips I realised that I could not knowingly take all the blame for what had transpired. Yes, I pitied him- and I felt terrible for what I had done to him. It was unnecessary and wrong, but he was the one who had manipulated me. He had misled me, lied to me, kidnapped me and almost killed my fiancé…

I then realised that I was _still_ very much afraid of the man before me; of what he might be capable of. I stood up, putting some distance between the Phantom and myself.

* * *

 **Erik**

Her words stung me, but I had predicted them. I knew that this conversation would bring pain but I couldn't help myself. I wanted to know… I _needed_ to know why she had done it. I had allowed her more trust in that moment that I had allowed anyone before. I was hers. I was standing before her on a stage being watched by hundreds, surrounded by what seemed like the entire Police force of Paris. I was vulnerable in a way that I had never been before anyone and would never be again, and at last making a bold attempt at telling her how I felt. That I would go anywhere she wanted me to, that I needed her to _want_ me there. That wasn't so much to ask, was it? To be wanted by someone, anyone at all?

I hadn't thought her to be so cruel. I had known of the authorities before I had made my entrance. I had planned my escape days ahead of the performance. It wasn't the plot to capture me that had cut me, as I knew _that_ was likely Raoul's idea.

It was the unmasking…

"Yes." I spoke. Part of me was relieved that we were finally speaking of it, and part of me was terrified. With everything so close and real again, would she change her mind about being with me? I wouldn't blame her, but I was selfish. And I knew that if she were to leave me a second time I would likely just allow myself to slip away into nothingness, finally consumed by the vortex of torment that threatened to envelop me each time I closed my eyes. I would truly be lost.

"Are you afraid now?" I asked. She didn't answer.

"Christine, I would never hurt you."

"I want to believe that." She replied softly.

It hurt me deeply that she could not trust me. I adored her. How could she be unaware of that?

"Did you mean what you said?"

I looked at her.

"When?"

"When… When I left. I returned the ring to you, and…"

"Yes." I said, cutting her off. Of course I did. It was meaningless now, though. If she didn't trust me, what did it matter how I felt? Christine didn't love me, and I'd accepted the fact, but all the same I found myself wishing she hadn't brought it up. I'd needed her to know, but I wished I hadn't said it. As I looked into her eyes; her beautiful, innocent, soulful brown eyes that would never look at me the way they looked at the boy, everything came rushing back. Why _had_ she come back? To gloat? Why did I yearn for someone who wanted nothing to do with me? I didn't need her.

Oh, but I _did!_

What was I doing?!

"The ring is there." I spoke abruptly, pointing to my side table. "You may take it when you leave. If you wish to leave now, that is quite alright as well."

"Why are you saying that?"

"It is yours, is it not? Yours and Raoul's, that is. I'm not naïve enough to believe otherwise. I saw you slip it onto your finger before you… you kissed me, Christine…" I brought my fingers up to my lips. They were tingling as though the kiss had occurred mere minutes ago. Even speaking of it now was painful. "…and I know it was all farce." I continued. "There is no need to pretend anymore, so you may take it."

"Yes, but _why_ are you speaking to me like that all of a sudden?"

"How would you _wish_ to be spoken to?" I answered snidely. I folded my arms across my chest. It caused my side to burn but I ignored it.

Christine took a step backward. Her eyes narrowed and her mouth began to move slightly, as if either pre-empting her own words or planning them. Then, she spoke.

"How dare you speak to me like that after _everything you put me through?!"_

I glared at her, slightly taken aback by her vivacity, but for the most part, furious.

 _"_ _Oh, and I suppose that you have not wronged me in the slightest?!"_

 _"_ _How can you possibly compare our actions?"_ She yelled. I wanted to leave; storm out before I was forced to delve further into my actions and motives over the past few months, but I could not. Mentioning that night had been a mistake after all. "You lied to me for years!" She continued, walking toward me "That is what hurts the most! Do you not understand that? You toyed with me! Having me believe that I was forming a friendship, perhaps some sort of _relationship_ with… with…" She seemed to grow angrier as she went on and was now viciously pointing at me. "You claimed to be a spirit sent by my deceased father! Do you have any idea how upsetting… how…"

"You removed my mask, Christine!" I interjected "Before everyone! And you chose _him!_ You chose _him_ because of his handsome face. After all I'd done for you, you just threw me away! Discarded me like I was nothing to you!"

"You really think me to be that shallow?! That hollow? You must not value me very much, Erik."

"I value you a great deal more than the boy! He only wanted you once he heard you sing, Christine! He doesn't know you!"

"And neither do you!" She spat.

It was true. I had spent so much time and effort trying to claim her as if she were nothing more than a material possession, that I had neglected to see the real her; her likes and dislikes, her sense of humour, her flaws. Everything that made her who she was, I was yet to learn. But I wished to. Oh, how I did.

"Perhaps this was a mistake." She said.

"Oh?"

"Yes. I should have known that it would be impossible to reason with you. Impossible to have a conversation with you."

My anger flared once more.

"And why is that, Christine? Because I am a monster without brains, a heart, or emotions to speak of?"

She sighed.

"Of course not…"

"Please leave." I said.

She looked at me, seemingly stunned.

"You don't mean that."

No, I didn't! And she was giving me the opportunity to revoke it, this perfect, priceless woman. What was I doing!?

"Do I not?"

"No." She replied simply.

"Then I will!"

"No!" She cried, practically jumping toward me and pushing me down upon the bed. "You are injured and are staying right where you are!"

Neither of us spoke. There was silence. It was as if the physical contact had momentarily stunned us, just as it had when she'd first touched my hands. Our eyes met. She hadn't removed her small hands from where they lay on my chest, and the pressure was lessening. She seemed to be relaxing. Slowly, carefully, she sat down on the edge of the bed, and still, her hands did not move. Still, she did not look away.

She was so beautiful. Even as she frowned at me I couldn't help but think her the most perfect thing I had ever seen. The anger washed away as I stared at her. Her eyes, so deep. Her lips, so full… Her cheeks had reddened slightly; perhaps it was the cold or perhaps she was flustered from our argument. A stray chocolate curl had fallen over her forehead in the process of her almost falling atop me. I longed to touch her. I yearned for it and yet I was terrified… Tentatively, courageously, I brought my hand up to her face. I stopped to see whether she would pull away, but to my surprise her frown seemed to be lessening…

But I needed more encouragement. I needed it _desperately._

"May I?" I asked, my voice low.

Her simple reply…

"Yes…"


	3. Chapter 3

**Hi guys! This one's a shorty but it's all one scene and it's a bit intense.**

 **I'm sorry for the absence, but your kind reviews kept me motivated! I will update Nothing But a Man and Time is Short soon too. It's just so hard to find time. Anyway, enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

 **Phanty belongs to Leroux and Lloyd Webber.**

* * *

 _Erik_

I almost smiled, so taken was I with the idea that she was inviting my touch after everything. Timidly, my hand shaking, I tucked the stray lock of hair behind her ear. My fingers brushed her ear briefly and I almost jerked away at the electric sensation.

"Do you truly wish for me to leave?" She asked, staring at me as I touched her. Not flinching, nor pulling away- her gaze did not shift from mine.

"No." I rasped.

How could I ever wish that?

"Thank you… for everything tonight."

She smiled in return before looking down bashfully.

"When was the last time you ate?" She asked me.

 _Ate?_

I hadn't even thought about food since she'd left, but the mere mention of food made me painfully aware of how hungry I actually was.

"I haven't any food." I replied. "Perhaps some fruit… Nothing more."

"You haven't answered my question."

Had Christine always been this impertinent?

"I don't recall. A few days perhaps." I hadn't eaten since before Don Juan, but I didn't want to speak the words, lest they conjure up images of that night. I didn't want her to leave…

"Right." She began, standing up and smoothing her skirts. "Where is your kitchen?"

"Christine, you don't have to…"

"Where is your kitchen?" She repeated. I eyed her for a moment before deciding to accede. I hadn't the strength to argue with her, and in truth, the idea of my Christine serving food for me filled me with warmth. I didn't know how long she was staying, and I was yet to understand why she had come at all- but I was powerless to resist her requests or offers of kindness. Just being around her drained me of all my hate and cunning and I found myself thinking that I would be whatever she wanted me to be, if she would only stay…

"On your right as you exit the bed chamber." I instructed. "It is the room behind the pipe organ… but you don't have to make…"

"Hush." Was her reply. "Rest, and I will find something for us to eat."

 _Us.._

I wished that I could prepare something for her. I had always dreamt about something as simple as that; escorting her down to my home and preparing a meal for her. She was finally here, with me in the most wonderfully domestic setting, and yet I was incapacitated.

"Christine, allow me…" I began to swing my legs off the bed.

"Erik! Please, just stay where you are." She scolded. "Please, just accept my help."

I nodded and positioned myself upon the bed once more. My ankle was throbbing, but it was not the injury she made it out to be. I knew that, but I didn't have the strength to deny her assistance. A part of me hated accepting help. I had always been capable of caring for myself and I couldn't stand pity. I had seen it on many faces over the years and I did not wish to see it on hers… not again. Though, another part of me yearned for the attention, the nurturing that I'd never, ever received.

Christine returned with some sliced fruit and a few slices of bread. I knew that it was stale as I had bought it several days ago, but as I could see no fungus I gladly accepted it.

"Raspberry jam was all I could find." She said softly, handing me my plate. "It's my favourite."

I smiled briefly, looking down before she had a chance to see it. It was my favourite also. How was it possible that I could have something in common with the perfect woman before me?

"Also, the bread is stale…"

"It is perfect, Christine. Thank you for this. No one has ever…" I stopped myself. Why was I divulging such things after only a few hours in her company? Oh, but I wanted to tell her everything. My memories, my likes and dislikes, my strengths and weaknesses; I wanted her to know it all. I wanted her to know everything _I_ did, everything I had always hidden from the outside world and everything I had always yearned to share with another but had not been able to.

"No one has ever what?" She asked hesitantly, perhaps predicting what I was about to say and in disbelief.

"No matter." I said.

"Erik, please. Tell me what you were about to say." She placed her had upon my arm.

 _Treated me with such kindness as you have._

I shook my head.

"Nothing, Christine."

She looked down, unsure of what to say.

"Well, please eat. You haven't touched your food. You… forgive me, but… you look as though you could use the nourishment."

There was nothing to forgive. I was convinced that I looked terrible. Eating with my mask on caused me pain, but the innocent girl could not have known this. I could not remove it now. I hardly wanted to frighten her away when so much progress had been made…

Though, I needed to bathe and shave. I needed to look presentable for her. Deciding to undertake this on my own, spared from any more of her pity, I changed the subject.

"I'm quite tired, Christine." I began. "Perhaps I will eat more once I've regained my strength. I might rest for a few hours."

I _was_ exhausted, yes, but even so I knew that she would fall asleep before I. Then I could go about making myself more appealing before she woke.

"Yes." She nodded. "That will do you good."

I began to stand up.

"Where are you going?" She asked.

"To the divan." I replied. "This bed should be yours should _you_ wish to rest. That is, if you still wish to stay…"

"Of course…" she spoke. "For a little while longer. If I am welcome, that is?"

I nodded.

"Please…" I gestured to the bed, this time getting up to stand beside her.

"You should take the bed, Erik."

"Christine…"

"This is your home." She interrupted. … "and you are injured."

She glanced at the bed before looking back at me.

I followed her gaze…

 _Could she be?_

 _Was she thinking…?_

"You could…" I stammered. "I… that is to say…"

 _We could…_

"Yes?" She asked.

"Nothing." I said. Better to nip that thought in the bud before it had a chance to grow any further. Nothing I had done allowed me to think that I deserved to lie beside her after everything I had put her through, and yet I could not stop picturing it. Christine and I, lying beside one another. Nothing else… just lying. Only a foot of mattress between us…

 _She turns to look at me and smiles._

 _I smile back, and muster the courage to take her hand in mine._

 _To my complete jubilation, she moves closer to me, wrapping herself snugly around my chest… just as I had always imagined…_

"Erik?"

I looked at her, unaware that she had been staring at me for some time.

"Nothing, Christine." I responded, immediately looking down. Ashamed and embarrassed at what she might have known had she possessed the power to read my mind. "I will take the divan. Please make yourself at home here. It is not much, but…" I stared out onto the lake from where I stood, the memories of Don Juan all too fresh in my mind; Raoul, the portcullis, the rope…

"…But I want you to be comfortable here. At the moment things are quite a mess, but I do have a rather large collection of books should your need for sleep not match mine. I do recall you to be an avid reader."

"Erik." She spoke. Her tone was sharp. I turned to look at her. "Take the bed. You shouldn't be walking on that ankle."

"I wouldn't call this walking."

"You shouldn't be using it at all. You should be resting."

"Christine…" I sighed. "I appreciate your concern and all that you have done… but please... It is bad enough that I am confined to these quarters below ground, do not confine me further."

I continued out to where the divan sat on the landing and sat down. Truthfully, my ankle was beginning to throb, but I would never admit that to Christine. She followed me out and continued.

"You don't have to confine yourself as you say."

"No?" I threw over my shoulder.

"No. You could leave here… We could…"

My head snapped around at her words.

"We could what?" I asked, my gaze fixed on hers.

"We could leave…" She offered, sitting down beside me.

"You would… do that? You would do that for me?"

She nodded.

What of her husband?

I dared not ask it for I didn't want the answer. I wanted to continue living on in this dream world she had brought back with her.

"Christine…" I began. "Why would you want that?"

She looked down.

"I don't know."

"You cannot say things like that to me without having thought them through." Had she any idea what that sort of hope could do to a man in my state?

"Erik, I don't know, alright? I don't know where we could go but you cannot stay here!"

" _I_ cannot stay here?"

"No!" She cried.

"I thought _we_ could leave! Now all of a sudden I am on my own again?"

"You're twisting my words!"

"I'm twisting nothing, Christine! You never had any intention of staying. You just came to see that I was alive, so that you could go on living your perfect, guilt free life with your _boy!"_

"Erik, why are you trying to hurt me?"

 _"Admit it!"_ I yelled, now standing and looming over her.

 _"Admit what!?"_ She replied, standing as well.

"That you had no intention of staying! That you don't care about me!"

"God, Erik. Is that what you want to hear? You won't even give me the _chance_ to get close to you!"

"You don't _want_ to get close to me!" I yelled.

"How do you _know_ that's what I want?!"

 _"Because that's what everyone wants!"_

She stared at me then, and I could see her expression changing from anger to pity. I had said too much. I hated myself for letting her in, for expressing how I actually felt. Why did she have this effect on me?

I turned away from her then, once more sitting down with my head in my hands.

 _Please don't say anything kind._

 _Please don't say anything to disarm me further._

I had gone from being all powerful in her eyes, all-seeing, all-knowing, imposing, to nothing. I hated what she had done to me – she'd made me into a man; fallible, weak. I'd spent so long becoming something else. But I could not hate _her_ for it. No, I just loved her all the more and it was agonizing being in her presence and not being able to express it.

To my horror she slowly sat down beside me once more. I knew that one kind word from her now would be my undoing, and so I silently begged her not to speak.

We sat beside one another in silence for a few moments. I was exhausted. I didn't know how to act around her after everything, what to say… who to be. She wanted me to be Erik, but what if I couldn't be that anymore? Would she leave? I took a deep breath and sat back slightly, my hands resting on my knees. I closed my eyes and, knowing that I had to say something, began…

"Christine, I…"

Before I could finish my sentence I felt a small hand slip into mine and hold it.

My eyes shot open.

I wasn't imagining it.

She was touching me.

I looked at her for an explanation, but her expression told me nothing. The last time we'd touched, it had been under very different circumstances. She had placed the ring back in my palm, closed her fingers over my own and left.

This was something else. It was wonderful. She was willingly touching me after all I had done and all that I was. I did not deserve her affection or even her friendship. I did not deserve to live after how I had treated her and the things I had done over the years and yet she had the strength, the charity, the love in her heart to hold me. To comfort me as no one ever had.

Despite my own protestations I inhaled sharply, letting out a shudder of a breath. I closed my eyes again so that she could not see… but she knew. She would have had to have been both blind _and_ deaf not to know that I had begun to weep beside her. Still, she said nothing, only held my hand tighter and remained by my side, affording me the strength and companionship I never knew I needed.

* * *

 **I regret nothing.**


	4. Chapter 4

**Hi guys! It's been ages since my last update and this is a short one but this is a good one for all you e/c angst lovers out there.**

 **Let me know what you think! More to come!**

 **Phanty belongs to Leroux & Lloyd Webber**

* * *

 **Erik**

 _Despite my own protestations I inhaled sharply, letting out a shudder of a breath. I closed my eyes again so that she could not see… but she knew. She would have had to have been both blind and deaf not to know that I had begun to weep beside her. Still, she said nothing, only held my hand tighter and remained by my side, affording me the strength and companionship I never knew I needed._

We sat there together for a few moments until my tears had almost dried. Neither of us spoke, but she did not release my bandaged hand. It wasn't the first time her touch, her _pity_ had made me weep, but this time was no more bearable than the last.

"You should rest." She finally spoke, her voice gentle.

I drew a deep breath, wiping my eyes with my free hand, though tears were still welling in them. I looked down at her soft, perfect hand in mine. It didn't belong there. Every second her skin was in contact with mine she was being tainted… She had come back because she cared about me, and that just made it all the worse. For the past few months every move I had made had been to win her affections. I had done everything in my power to do just that; right or wrong. Wrong it had been, and wrong it still was. I didn't deserve her… I wanted her hand in mine for eternity but I released it and once more released her.

"You should go." I replied.

"What?" She began, looking down at her empty hand. "I told you, I… I want to stay and help you."

A tear rolled down my cheek.

"Christine, you do not belong here." I sat forward, my head in my hands. "I let you go because you do not belong here. You belong up there." I gestured to the world above. "Up there with the light and the living." I stood up and began to limp away from her.

"Erik, when my father died and I was in darkness, you _were_ my light…" She began, rising and following me. "You… you _are_ my light…"

I stopped.

"What do you _mean_ by that, Christine?!" I probed, rounding on her. "What do you mean when you say things like that? Do you know how it makes me _feel_ when you speak like that? What it… what it does to me?" I held my chest and turned away from her again. I couldn't let her see the tears, not again.

"Speak like _what?"_

" _Like I am the most important thing to you! If I was your light you would not have left!"_

"You sent me away!"

"Oh… and _that_ is the reason you left?" I asked, haphazardly wiping my tears and moving closer to her. "Not because you were terrified of me? Not because you love another? What a relief that is to hear!"

"Do not speak to me like that." She spat.

"Well do not speak to me as though you love me when you cannot wait to get away from here!"

"I am standing here before you for a reason!" She argued.

"And what reason might that be?" I spoke, the words dripping with sarcasm.

"Because I care about you!"

I scoffed and turned away. My chest heaved as another wave of sobs threatened. Why was she doing this to me? Couldn't she see that her mere presence was enough to cripple me emotionally? That the promise of _her_ contrasting the painful reality was too much to bear?

"Christine, please…" I begged, not entirely sure what I was begging for.

"Erik…" She approached me from behind. Now she too was weeping. "Talk to me! Help me to understand!"

 _"You cannot stay!"_ I yelled, sobs overcoming me as I made my way over to the shore of my lake and sat down on the cold stone I had become so familiar with. What could I do? She was here before me showing me everything I could not have... I wanted her to leave, but I knew that if she did I wouldn't be able to bear it. The conflict inside me was tearing me apart.

I heard her approach and sit down beside me.

My sweet Christine.

 _Stay_

 _Stay and love me_

"I do not know what to do." She spoke, emotion tainting her words.

"You do." I said. "Leave."

I felt her flinch behind me. Had my words stung her?

"Go." I said.

"Is that what you want?" She asked, her voice small.

 _No!_

 _God, no!_

I wanted her to stay above all else but I knew that she wouldn't. Not really. Not in the way I wanted. I didn't reply.

I could not speak. My words would only betray me and they would tell her to stay, but I couldn't have that. My chest heaved again. I couldn't stop the tears now.

She was staring at me, awaiting my answer.

My gaze did not shift from the water's edge before me as I slowly nodded.

She brought her hand to her mouth, inhaling sharply.

"Well…" She began, though she was clearly speaking through tears. "I don't wish to cause you pain. I would never wish that."

"I don't know why you came back." I spat.

 _What was wrong with me?!_

 _I didn't mean that!_

 _Why was I hurting her?!_

I wanted to tear myself apart!

Christine stood up, her hand still held to her mouth.

"Goodbye, Erik." She spoke as she turned away.

At those words my chest ached.

I'd lost her again. I'd sent her away… AGAIN!

I turned to watch her walk away.

What was I doing?!

She'd come back into my life and I had thrown it in her face.

I must have been insane!

 _No, no no!_

If there was any chance of her staying around, I had to take it, didn't I? I had to take it even if it killed me – because losing her again certainly _would._ I could already feel it. It was eating away at me. This hole in my chest was burning me from the inside out and I simply couldn't stop myself.

I shot up

 _"Christine!"_ I called. _"Stop!"_

Now almost at the other side of the cavern, she turned around. Her expression was unreadable. Was it sadness? Fear? …Hope?

I strode over to her has hastily, injured ankle be damned and took her by her narrow shoulders.

Her eyes were wide as they looked up at me, but not from fear… merely confusion, and … something else.

I knew that if I waited any longer I would lose my resolve and so, bringing one bandaged hand up to touch her perfect, porcelain cheek, I kissed her.

It was our second kiss – just as harried and clumsy, just as passionate and desperate as the first.

I didn't know if what I was doing was right, God forbid I was hurting her, but she had to know how I felt. And I wanted to _show_ her how I felt, just as man _should_ be able to show a woman how he feels.

If only once.

I loved her.

God, I did.

And I would take whatever time with her she offered me.

If it meant the slightest chance that she would love me, I would do whatever I needed to.

I pulled away from our kiss – if you could call it that.

"Christine…" I breathed, tears still in my eyes – just like the first time our lips had touched.

"Don't leave."

...


End file.
